Two Suns in the Sunset
by DSieya
Summary: “Leaders aren't born; they are made.” Neville Longbottom, Seventh Year. WIP. /Updated January 18th/
1. Where Dwell…

_wow... my first multi-chapter! i started this in january, and due to very many pressing commitments i didn't get to continue until now. i'm excited about this. neville was such a bamf in book 7 and i'm really eager to explore that. i have most of the second chapter done and it should be up in a few days._

_on a very unrelated note... who ELSE is so excited for indiana jones 4?! i have midnight tickets and simply can't wait.  
quick quiz: what is druidess sieya's favorite indiana jones accessory?  
answer: his... hat. ;D_

--

_"Will you stand by, a passive spectator  
of the market dictators?  
Will you discreetly withdraw  
with your ear pressed to the boardroom door?  
Will you hear when the lion within you roars?  
Will you take to the hills?"  
_Roger Waters, Radio KAOS: "Home"

--

**Chapter One: Where Dwell…**

As the Seventh Year passed through the barrier dividing Platform Nine and Three-Quarters from the Muggle world, he felt cold. No, it was not just that odd coldness that had been clinging to the days of summer; it was more internal, surrounding his stomach, making it contract at the chill.

He peered around. The scarlet steam engine was blowing huge puffs of smoke. Everyone was bustling hither and thither. It was five till eleven, so bags were being hoisted up through windows and the younger children were clinging to the parents they were once again leaving.

"Move along there, Neville," Gran said in her snappish way as she scuttled past him, levitating his trunk along to try to find a free space to set it down so they would be able to say their good-byes. She still insisted on doing magic for him, even though he had turned seventeen on the thirtieth of July.

"Watch out, now," she called to a Second Year, who leapt out of the way of the trunk as, with a clatter, she lowered it to the floor. Dusting nonexistent dirt from her olive green coat, she turned to Neville, who was surveying the Platform around himself.

It was busy, but conspicuously emptier and quieter than it had been any of previous years. He didn't see any of the Muggle-borns he knew from his Year, but that was all the better. The _Daily Prophet_ was printing disturbing things these days, and with all of these new appointments to the staff…

With a pang, he realized that Hermione was probably not coming back—nor Dean, nor Harry for that matter…

"Neville."

Neville then realized that Gran had said his name quite a few times.

"Yes?"

She was studying him intently, eyes narrowed, mouth tight. Neville forced himself to look away from the vulture on her hat and into her eyes.

"You know what we discussed earlier."

He nodded, solemn.

"In your father's day, it didn't get this bad."

Neville's eyes lowered to the floor for a split second, and he felt the weight in his breast pocket become considerably more noticeable.

"Gran… I don't want to leave Hogwarts." He felt hesitant even as he said it. "I wouldn't want to—"

Over Gran's shoulder, he caught sight of Ernie Macmillan hurriedly talking to a very alarmed and confused-looking family, who had two small brunette twin boys clutching their parents' hands. The children were already in their school robes, which looked too large on their small frames.

His grandmother followed his eyes, then fixed her steely gaze back upon Neville.

"I'll sort them through. You'll miss the train," she remarked in a clipped way. "Good-bye, Neville. Do write me."

He watched her turn heel, shoo Ernie Macmillan away, and start talking to the family. Behind him, the scarlet train blew its ear-piercing whistle, and Neville hurriedly levitated his trunk. It knocked into the doorframe just as the train started the chug to a start. Clambering rather ungracefully onto the train, he turned around and just managed to move out of the way as Ernie launched himself through the closing door.

"Hello Neville." He sounded slightly out of breath.

"Hi, Ernie," Neville replied. "Was that a Muggle family you were talking to?" he asked as he started to make his way down the hall, followed closely by his trunk and Ernie.

"Yeah. I was trying to convince them to go back home. It was a bit hard to put all of the events since last June into seven or so minutes." He sighed. "They thought I was pulling their leg. It's empty, though, in here—I guess all of the Muggle-borns that know have sense to stay away."

"I think it's just Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, and I this year."

"What about Ron? He's a pure-blood, and I saw Ginny earlier. I suppose Hermione has gone away, but I can't see her not being at school," Ernie added, musing aloud. "And, of course, Harry wouldn't be here unless he was living in a hole all summer," he declared.

"I dunno. Do you think those three would split up?" Neville asked, glancing back at the Hufflepuff; his trunk swerved, and banged into the wall ("—oops—"), and Neville quickly righted it.

He looked up just in time to see Ernie shrug.

"I suppose not. Oh—here's my compartment. See you around, Neville."

"See you," he replied, watching Ernie slip into a compartment with Susan Bones, Wayne Hopkins, and Megan Jones. Justin Flinch-Fletchley must not have been there, and Hannah Abbott had been gone since October of sixth year, when her mother was killed...

Sighing, he made his way further down the corridor, glancing into the compartments to see if he knew anyone. Everybody looked grim and humorless, and there was hardly a trace of laughter. Again he felt his stomach tighten, and tried to push it away.

"Neville! Neville!"

He turned around, and saw Ginny Weasley hanging out of her compartment, looking at him.

"We have a seat here."

"Thanks," he said gratefully. He backed his way into their compartment, and managed to stow his trunk onto the top rack before plopping beside Luna, who was intently folding a piece of paper.

"Is Ron here?" he asked Ginny.

"No. He's with Harry and Hermione." She sounded restrained.

"Oh." Neville felt his stomach deflate; he had been hoping against reason for a somewhat normal year. For the first time, he dreaded the tracks that the Hogwarts Express was following. "What are they doing?"

"Merlin knows."

Neville dropped the point. The topic turned to other things, no less serious and pressing, but Ginny now talked freely and passionately. Every now and then, Luna would pause in watching the graceful floating of her paper crane and offer her own two pence to the situation.

Neville mostly listened, trying to reassess himself and prepare himself for the year to come.

The fake Galleon in his breast pocket weighed most heavily.


	2. Carried by the Tide

_hey guys. i knew in the last chapter it said this would be up in a few days after that first one was posted... but then my computer decided to break, and all that i had written for chapter 2 had to be rewritten... and i was reluctant to start that. / sorry! but here it is._

_i was to go on vacation yesterday, but due to all the activity in LAX in the terminal from which i was supposed to depart, that was postponed until tonight. so i wrote all of this last night and today. :)_

_i'll try to write over summer, but i don't really have internet, so don't expect much. this will be finished, though—it's already all planned out._

_the story behind the sorting hat song is based off of star of the north's "tale of a time long gone"—a beautiful story about the founding of hogwarts that i recommend to everyone._

_--_

**Chapter Two: Carried by the Tide**

Into the Great Hall stumbled Neville with the rest of the Gryffindors in his Year: Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and Seamus Finnigan. Looking up, he saw the night through the ceiling: cloudy and blue. No stars were able to penetrate the gray masses that smothered them.

Around him, the Hall was almost empty and relatively quiet; the only table that still was somewhat full was the Slytherin table. It seemed that the other three tables were barely able to fill up halfway. Neville and his classmates took a seat at the Gryffindor table, near the middle.

It was quiet.

A _bang_ snapped everyone's attention to the giant oak doors at the entrance of the Hall. Neville twisted in his seat, to better see the new class.

Professor McGonagall led the First Years down the aisle between the House tables. Her chin was very high in the air, and her face was emotionless. She looked to neither side of her as she passed the tables, but Neville felt a strong affinity towards her as she passed. The only sound in the Hall was some rustling from the Slytherin table and, once, a quickly stifled laugh. Behind her, the new First Years were huddled in a tight-knit group, no doubt aware of the tension dripping from the air.

The first thing of which Neville was aware was the... _size_ of the group. There couldn't be more than ten new students. Perhaps some Muggle parents were warned, as were those of the twins on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters; perhaps some were killed. Neville felt his stomach ball up at the thought, and was so consumed by the appearance of only _ten new students _that he didn't even notice Filch hobbling onto the platform with the Sorting Hat.

There was a moment of intense waiting, in which the entire Hall was focused upon the ancient, torn wizard's hat. Finally, it opened that tear near the brim that was its mouth, and started to sing.

"_At the time when Hogwarts School was born  
__The land was wrought with strife  
__The days were dark, the nights were long  
__But one place sparked with life.  
__Upon a lake an ancient castle  
__Protected those within  
__And fellows four in their lonely home  
__Thus they did begin:_

"'_We will lead the fight and right the wrong  
__And shake off tyranny  
__Rectify the misdeeds of the now  
__Then none shall fear any.'  
__So resolved, the four set to their work  
__Yet their test was far to come.  
__And in those days, those weeks, those months,  
__Sought many youth their wisdom.  
__Each day from the village near the young  
__Would arrive and find a spot,  
__Where the four would pause their lengthy plans  
__And, together, teach the lot._

"_Far away on the distant fields  
__Schemes were put in place  
__The tyrant led his ignorant hoard:  
__These Four he sought to efface._

"_When arrived these monsters and armies  
__The four were poised to defend,  
__Bravely did they meet their evil foes  
__In name of love and land.  
__In the front, Gryffindor led the charge  
__With followers old and new;  
__Those behind him proudly recounted  
__His deeds of royal blue.  
__Behind the lines, swift Ravenclaw wove  
__Webs of magic and charms,  
__And her profound senses and keen tact  
__Saved many from the swarms.  
__At the steps of the castle Hufflepuff stood  
__And her sweet beauty belied  
__The fierceness with which she protected her wards;  
__Villains she would not abide.  
__Slytherin on the side he remained  
__With messengers all about  
__He cunningly outthought the enemy;  
__Him victory was impossible without.  
__Unable to withstand Hogwarts' forces  
__The tyrant soon did fall.  
__And with the rise of serene powers  
__Peace befell upon all._

"_Amid the dead, the living, the tears  
__There stood upon the lakeshore—  
__The great battle now done behind them—  
__The friends, the Hogwarts Four.  
__With unity they withstood the test,  
__Nothing was more clear  
__That with their powers combined together  
__They were able to vanquish fear._

"_In the following days, weeks, and months  
__They fell back into life  
__And found yet another common goal:  
__The desire to make rife  
__Knowledge in their young friends' minds  
__With which they saw the might—  
__The power of their future world—_

_Of knowledge, much like light  
__They would destroy the shadow of ignorance  
__And, with that, make free  
__The young witches and wizards in the land  
__From their minds' captivity._

"_The Four resolved to create a school  
__The best of all the lands  
__A feat for even these great wizards  
__With their strong and skillful hands.  
__But they were of such fame and renown  
__That from corners of the earth  
__Did come scores of youthful students,  
__All of considerable worth.  
__This school, which all knew as Hogwarts  
__Attracted so many young  
__That the Founders were forced to quarter  
__According to this rung:_

"_Godric Gryffindor, like his coat of arms  
__Took only those that would dare  
__Helga Hufflepuff, with her kindly gaze  
__Selected the most fair  
__Rowena Ravenclaw, sharp-eyed she was  
__Preferred the ones astute  
__Salazar Slytherin, in his mind  
__Would pick those of repute_

"_Thus began the first division;  
__The beginning of the end  
__Within a year the friendships faltered  
__The school itself did rend.  
__The Founders Four would not agree  
__Whose birth should be allowed;  
__Whether Muggle-kin or Wizard-kin  
__To place on one a shroud  
__Said one, 'My family went down in flames  
__Their honor I'll not forget  
__I refuse to teach a witch or wizard  
__Of whom murderers is beget.'_

"_The fundamental disagreements,  
__Between the three and one  
__Would not allow for a chance of peace  
__The ties were thus broken  
__A morning of early November  
__Slytherin was simply gone  
__His hard work and his influence  
__Vanished into dawn.  
__And although this did stop the fighting  
__And now all learning was free  
__How were the foundations of the Four  
__To be whittled down to three?  
__How was Hogwarts School to now stand  
__On such a sorry scale?  
__How were intentions so pure and true  
__So easily to fail?_

"_Hogwarts still stands sturdy and strong—yet,  
__Like in history years ago,  
__Is in danger of collapse and strife  
__Now an internal foe.  
__Though proscribed I am to divide you—  
_—_Do not let it divide  
__For you are in these times together,  
__Each carried by the tide  
__When you place me upon your head  
__And you wander to where I call  
__Walk these corridors with an unclouded mind  
__And with charity for all."_

The Great Hall was silent for a moment; the First Years looked at each other with uncertainty, as did a good many of the other students. Eventually, applause started, although it was smattered; the Slytherin table seemed particularly unenthusiastic of the Sorting Hat's choice of song. Neville saw Draco Malfoy rolling his eyes and folding his arms, and felt a surge of dislike.

"That was long," commented Ginny on his side, while clapping. There was a fine line between her eyebrows.

"I guess it felt it was needed," Neville replied in an undertone. Then he wondered if it picked up on anything, what with staying in the Headmaster's office.

Neville chanced a glace at Snape, who was sitting—_smugly_, thought Neville—in the Headmaster's chair. He was looking at the Sorting Hat with a hint of his characteristic sneer that Neville knew so well, mostly because he had had it directed at him countless times. Snape's head slowly turned back toward the Hall, and Neville quickly looked away before the murderer could catch him looking.

_Murderer._ Neville mused upon the word. The murderer of Albus Dumbledore, and definitely unnamed others, was right there in front of him. It made him feel sick. He thought back to his grandmother's words: _"In your father's day, it didn't get this bad."_

Professor McGonagall, who had been standing next to the Sorting Hat during the length of the song, pulled out a roll of parchment that was only a foot long.

"Beaumont, Bethany!"

A girl jogged up the stairs with a grace that Neville would have almost envied, had this been any other year. She had blonde hair in a very tight French braid that rested against her neck.

The Hat dropped past her head and rested directly onto her shoulders. A few seconds passed, in which the whole Great Hall waited, tense, for the Sorting Hat's declaration.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The table next to Neville erupted with cheers; Bethany Beaumont, blushing furiously, deftly leapt down the stairs and took a seat.

"Coiner, Joseph!"

A smallish boy with light brown hair stepped up onto the platform and into the stool, seeming to take great care to not stumble. The Hat, as it did to every First Year without conspicuously large heads, slipped over his eyes and rested upon the tip of his nose. A few seconds later, the Sorting Hat bellowed, "SLYTHERIN!"

The table on the far side of the hall seemed to have exploded. Perhaps aware of their new majority status within the school, the Slytherin House appeared to want to demonstrate this to everyone. Neville glanced down the Gryffindor House; his classmates all adopted onto their faces a hard, determined look.

"Dolby, Harriet!"

A very pretty girl with perfect, strawberry blonde curls tumbling down her shoulders almost tripped in her ascent toward the Sorting Hat. However, as she turned to sit on the stool, there was a steeled look in her eyes. The whole Gryffindor table seemed to tense, as though they subconsciously knew into which House would be Sorted.

She climbed onto the stool and McGonagall dropped the hat onto her head. A few seconds wait, and then—

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table made up for their disparity of numbers with sheer noise. Neville was yelling himself hoarse, much louder than for any other first year he had witnessed being sorted into his House, and beside him he heard Ginny's voice reaching an unnatural pitch as she bellowed her support for Harriet Dolby.

Finally, the noise died down, and Dolby was sitting sheepishly in her spot; her face was quite as pink as her hair. The steely look in her face as she had approached the stool had vanished.

The Sorting continued as if a desperate competition between the Houses. Each table seemed afraid that they were going to only have one—or not any—First Years. However, the First Years were divided up almost evenly—Gryffindor received two more: "Syme, Charley" and "Tharen, Tina". The other Houses each got two or three.

Finally, the Hall fell silent. Neville looked up to glance at the Slytherin table; they were all staring at the Gryffindor table. The complete silence of those around him assured him that his own Housemates were staring back.

Slytherin had three new students as well. Neville felt the palpable silence of the Hall; between the eyes of the rival students was a death match. For a few very long moments, the Hall was captured in a strained quiet.

Movement caught his eye, and broke his concentration. His head turned toward the High Table. Snape sat in the middle, in Dumbledore's old chair, and on either side of him were the newcomers—unpleasant-looking people whose twisted faces Neville vaguely recalled. He was still trying to search the jumbled confusion that was his memory when the new Headmaster stood up.

"Welcome again, students of Hogwarts."

This greeting, once so warm in the voice of Albus Dumbledore, sent a shiver down Neville's spine. He refocused his eyes from Snape to the back of Ginny's head which, turned as they were toward the High Table, now was in front of him. He couldn't see her expression, but one of her hands was still gripping the edge of the table. The knuckles were white.

"I would first like to draw attention to two new staff appointments. Alecto Carrow—" he gestured to his right. Neville guessed that the mass to which he indicated was supposed to be a woman. "—now is the professor of Muggle Studies. Amycus Carrow—" Everyone's attention was drawn to the lumpy-looking man on Snape's left. "—will teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Even from afar, Neville caught an almost unnatural glitter in Snape's black eyes as the man said those words. It made him feel as if something was crawling up the back of his neck.

"In regard to…"

As Snape started speaking, Neville was studying the Carrows, trying to place them—feeling the nagging familiarity that was their persons pulling at his brain.

Running into an invisible wall—_"They've blocked the stairs—reducto! REDUCTO!"_—a pool of blood on the floor—a brother and sister barreling back down, panting with excitement and exertion—

Neville's face pulled itself into a grimace, an ugly wince as he realized—the two Death Eaters present at the murder of Albus Dumbledore.

"Ginny." He leaned forward, laying a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, but leaned back and turned her ear toward him. "Ginny—the Carrows—those're—"

"Yes," she answered. "I know. I recognized them." Disgust was heavy in her voice. "The woman almost killed me that night."

Neville leaned back, digesting the information. That night—that night, almost three months before… the thought made him wince once more.

Tearing his mind from the memories, he attempted to focus on what Snape was saying, but found himself unable to. His mind kept drifting to various places… facing a whole year taught by Death Eaters… the location of Harry, Ron, and Hermione… _ten new students_….

After Snape spoke, the food appeared—but it didn't taste as it used to. The past six years, Neville had relished in the opening banquet—its gravies, and meats, and four different sorts of potatoes… then later, the pie… but, then again, never before had he started off a year in such stress and uncertainty.

The meal was eaten in silence and, after the last plate was cleared, the Gryffindor table stood up as one and started out of the door.

Walking the well-trodden path toward the Fat Lady and the Gryffindor Tower, Neville was in somewhat of a daze. He had comprehended none of Snape's speech. Ginny was walking behind him, looking deep in thought. Neville felt somewhat awkward when he interrupted her.

"Did Snape say anything very important?"

Ginny glanced up, her brown eyes lighted with surprise at his talking.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, well, no—he sort of gave off an Umbridge-ish air…" She gesticulated at the foul woman's name. "How this school is going to change and all that… I stopped listening after a while." She shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out more as the year goes on. Half of what he said, if not a downright lie, was disguised. No doubt the school will change, what with three murderers in charge," she went on. "But to what extent and into which direction is debatable."

"Depending on who you talk to," Neville finished, feeling as if he understood.

"Exactly."

Ginny helped him into the portrait hole. They stood a moment, looking at each other; Neville hoped that the fear he felt did not make a show upon his face.

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, good luck tomorrow, Neville."

They started toward their respective dormitories.

"And you," he replied with an ease he did not feel.

As he settled into his four-poster after making his greetings to Seamus, Neville felt as if he would need much more than luck to get through tomorrow.

* * *


	3. The Second Day

_a/n: aagghh i'm sorry guys… you've all heard the excuse, i'm sure, but my first year at college got in the way of even thinking about fanfiction. i recently started rereading and rediscovering why i love it and why i wrote it in the first place. i hate to leave projects unfinished so here's the next installment._

OH and guess what my computer broke again, so remember that outline i had bragged about earlier (..way earlier)? yeah that doesn't exist anymore… i'm going to start that again and save it somewhere online because this crap keeps happening to me. so sad! i even had the names of every new first year and their houses and when/if they were going to play a role in the story… it was all very professional. and very un-professional for me to not have it backed up somewhere.

this one goes out to silver weasley because i haven't talked to you in a long time, girl, and you should most def. work on guardian!

--

**Chapter Three: The Second Day**

Neville went down to breakfast the next morning with a hollowness tugging at his stomach.

_I don't know why I'm nervous,_ he mused to himself. _It can't be that different, can it? _He began to convince himself that Hogwarts was _Hogwarts_—it was over a thousand years old and its integrity wouldn't be destroyed after only one day of term. A little bit more steeled, he sat down at the bench and picked up some toast and marmalade.

"Schedules!" said a sharp voice right over his head, causing him to upend the marmalade jar. Neville scrambled to wipe off the table with a few napkins as a piece of parchment was waved in front of his nose. He grabbed at it, smearing the edges with his marmalade-coated fingers.

"Alright, Neville?" came Ginny's voice next to him. She seated herself gracefully next to him, examining her own schedule while pouring syrup on French toast.

"Erm…" he cast his eyes wildly around for another napkin with which to wipe his hands. "…Yeah…" He threw all of the napkins to a clear space in the middle of the table. "Just… erm…" He struggled to orient himself, and he caught Ginny looking at him a little strangely. "Sorry."

"You have some marmalade on your eyebrow," she said, dabbing at his face.

"Thanks." He took a deep breathe, feeling like a clumsy toddler in a high seat. Flustered, he grabbed his schedule again to examine it.

_Ugh_… double periods every morning… at least he started Mondays with Herbology… free period after lunch every day… followed by…

"_Muggle Studies_?" he asked aloud. "I was never in Muggle Studies…" Did they mix up the schedules? He couldn't keep up with something he's never done before—he couldn't even keep up with the stuff he _has_ done before!

Neville glanced, panic-stricken, at Ginny, who was turning over her schedule as if she wasn't sure it was hers.

"Oh you're in Muggle Studies with me, Ginny!" said a crisp voice right next to his right year, making him jump again. Luckily, this time, nothing was spilled. Luna grabbed a seat next to Ginny at the relatively empty table.

"I didn't know you were in Muggle Studies. Actually, I don't know _I_ was," Ginny said, frowning at the two schedules which were now side by side.

"I wasn't, either," Neville offered.

"Then why—"

"Professor Snape is making everyone take it. He said Alecto Carrow was teaching it, but I don't think she knows the first thing about Muggles," Luna mused.

"He said that last night?" Neville worried what _else_ he missed from Snape's speech.

"Well, he didn't say that Carrow didn't know the first thing about Muggles, obviously—"

"But what about it being compulsory?"

"No, I was talking to the Muggles in that painting of the Wendelin the Weird being burned again and they told me. He didn't say much about Alecto or Amycus last night, except to tell us that the woman was teaching Muggle Studies and that the man was replacing his previous post."

"Oh." He wished he had paid more attention.

"Why aren't you sitting at your own table, Luna?" Ginny asked, in a curious way and not in a _I wish you would go back over there_ kind of way.

"Oh, I don't have friends over there," Luna said flippantly, scooping some eggs. After a few moments, she added, "And of course I always follow the Sorting Hat's directions."

After breakfast Neville bade goodbye to Ginny and Luna, who were heading to Charms together, and made his way down alone to Herbology. Usually Gryffindors had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, but with only him and Parvati in N.E.W.T. level Herbology and most of the Hufflepuffs gone, he had a feeling that all four of the houses would be combined into the same class.

Entering greenhouse four, Neville took a seat at a workstation next to Parvati Patil.

"Hello Neville," she said.

"Hi," he responded, his chair catching on a nook in the floor as he pulled it out.

Their table was joined by Ernie Macmillan and some Ravenclaw whose name he did not know; Neville was feeling better because no Slytherins had yet walked into the room.

"Welcome to your seventh year of Herbology," Professor Sprout said once everyone seemed settled in. "This year will be your most challenging year yet, so it is imperative that you stay on top of the coursework and that you _follow directions_. We will be working with some _very_ dangerous plants over the course of the year and the last thing I need—"

The greenhouse door clanged open and a group of four students walked in, talking and laughing. It took them a few long moments to sit at a workstation and organize their things, during which Neville frowned in disapproval.

"As I was saying," the Herbology professor started again, annoyance clear in her voice, "some of these plants are dangerous so I expect _all_ of you to—"

"Oooh, a dangerous _herb_," giggled Pansy Parkinson. Professor Sprout stopped, staring at her. Parkinson ceased her giggling, but exchanged a smirk with her fellow Slytherin girlfriends.

After she passed out a syllabus, Professor Sprout spoke again. "Today's lesson is mainly preparation for Wednesday's class: we will be working with a plant called the Fobrolia, a very unpredictable plant that repels its handlers with…"

As Professor Sprout went on about the Fobrolia, Neville took notes and tried to ignore the snickering and rustling of the Slytherin table behind him. Parvati kept turning around to shoot them annoyed looks. Neville wanted to copy her example, but something held him back. He kept thinking that Professor Sprout would do something—she wasn't harsh, like Professor McGonagall, but she wasn't a pushover either.

But after the first few incidents, she kept talking as if nothing was happening.

As soon as the period was over, Neville left the class to head to lunch and, then, he had a free period to start on his Herbology assignment that was due on Wednesday.

He reached the lunch table, already feeling emotionally and mentally drained—even coming out of his favorite class. He buttered up a roll, carefully replacing the knife so he wouldn't knock it over, and took a big bite. It was soft and warm and flaky and buttery, and for a moment he let himself forget the realization that was slowly coming onto him: that Hogwarts, which had been divided into four relatively equal Houses, had one of them not-so-inconspicuously taking it all over.

He looked around just as Ginny sat next to him. It suddenly was apparent to him that he was going to be spending a lot of time for Ginny this year—he couldn't figure out why. Is it because she was one of his closest friends and one of the only Gryffindors left? Because she reminded him of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who no doubt had they been here would already be planning the resistance to this new Hogwarts regime? (Actually, they probably were already plotting against a much longer regime.) Or was it because she was the one who was _closest_ to those three—as Harry's girlfriend, as Ron's sister, and as Hermione's best friend?

"How was your morning?" she asked. There were harsh lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth, and her voice was a controlled, flat timbre.

"Double Herbology. It was alright," he said, trying to be optimistic. It _did_ seem like it would be a good class, if it weren't for that table behind him… "The Slytherins were being…" He didn't know how to put it.

"Yeah," Ginny said. "I noticed it too."

There was a silence between them.

"So, uh, what happened?" he ventured.

"Don't want to talk about it." She slammed some soup into her bowl, making it splatter everywhere. Grumbling, she vanished the spills away. "Either way, you'll find out soon enough."

Rebuffed, Neville stared at his plate and then put his roll down. He wasn't hungry anymore.

There were several minutes of silence between them. Neville looked up and down the Gryffindor table. Many of them were silent as well, or talking in restrained whispers. Occasionally some would look up and fix an angry and resentful stare on the table on the far side of the hall.

"Yeah, what are you looking at?" some of the Slytherins called over, brazenly. Neville looked harder at his plate, feeling Ginny whip around on the bench behind him.

"We're not looking at _anything_, apparently!" her voice rang over the whole Hall; Neville snuck a glance at her face. It was very pink, but she was looking hard and determined at the Slytherin table. The Hall had fallen silent: the palpable tension that had been stewing and boiling since their arrival to the school seemed about to explode.

_And it's not even the second day_, Neville noted sourly.

"You wanna go, little girl?" called over a tall Slytherin—Blaise Zabini, Neville recognized.

Ginny made a sudden movement to get up, but Neville and, on Ginny's other side, Seamus Finnigan grabbed either of her arms. A fight would not do.

"Hey I didn't know that Gryffindors had brains!" laughed Blaise Zabini; Tracey Davis, who appeared to be quite taken with Blaise, laughed along with him. "Especially those two!"

Unfortunately, neither Seamus nor Neville thought to put a hand over Ginny's mouth. "Now I know it isn't _difficult_ to do, Zabini, but at least they have more _brains_ than you have _ba_—"

Her mouth completed the rest of the word, but her voice didn't. Frowning and putting a hand over her throat, she glanced back up at Zabini, who had his wand lazily pointed at her.

"So it _does_ shut up!"

Ginny's mouth performed what would have been savage cry as she wrenched her arms free. She was bringing her wand around towards Zabini when a shock of pain crossed her features and she dropped her wand. Clutching her wrist, she looked wildly around as if to locate who had hexed her.

"Fighting, Ms. Weasley?" said a smooth voice like rotting silk.

Neville just about flew three feet into the air as Snape's voice floated above him. In his shock, he stared into the features of the Headmaster, then looked away as the man turned a sneer onto him. He stared determinedly at the table.

Ginny talked next to him. Someone must have reversed the silencing charm.

"Defending myself, _sir_." She spat the pleasantry through gritted teeth. Neville chanced a glance over at her. Her face was pink again, probably from anger and resentment. He caught a look of a stout, hunched woman behind Ginny who had her wand out. He guessed that she must have been the one who threw the hex at Ginny.

Apparently, teachers were now allowed to cast spells on students.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," he said, loud enough for the Hall to hear. Then his voice quieted down. "And if you lose your temper again you will likewise lose more than that."

Ginny snorted, but seemed to catch herself rolling her eyes. Neville marveled at her bravery right in the face of a murderer. But he was able to follow her train of thought—_as if points mattered this year_.

Snape slithered away back toward the teacher's table, and the woman—Alecto Carrow, still with her wand in her grubby fingers—followed him. Neville shuddered as her robes brushed against his back.

He looked at Ginny once more. Her eyes were swimming with tears. Abruptly she stood up, climbed over the bench and strode toward the exit of the Great Hall.

After a moment, Neville clambered up to follow her. He ignored the jeers from the table at the far end of the Hall.

After a few moments of him jogging after her—she was really a very fast walker—he touched her arm. "Ginny—"

The wild look in her watery eyes made him take a few steps backwards. Tears hadn't fallen yet; there was no wetness clinging to her bottom lashes.

His mouth open, Neville watched as Ginny swallowed back the tears. "What, Neville."

"I—well, are you alright?" he asked, then realized _What a stupid question_. "What I mean is—well, you were really brave back there—I mean, I couldn't've done it—"

His bumbling, amazingly, seemed to calm her down a bit. "No. Thank you Neville." She swallowed again, then took another deep breathe. "It's just—well, it doesn't feel like Hogwarts anymore, does it?"

He remained silent, not wanting to admit his agreement.

She sighed, the hard lines returning to her eyes. "I'm going to the Common Room. Are you coming?"

"Uh—sure." Thank goodness he was wearing his backpack when he followed her out of the Great Hall. "I should get to work on this assignment anyway…" he said, consenting to follow her. She was staring straight ahead as she walked, her lips pursed. He wondered what kind of Gryffindor he looked like next to her.

"What were you so upset about earlier?" The question burst from his lips without any prompt from his brain. He felt his face go hot. _As if she needed reminding_.

There was a hesitation on her part, then—"When do you have Muggle Studies?"

"This afternoon."

"You'll know then."

Neville almost considered not going to Muggle Studies, he was so anxious. If Ginny even refused to talk about it, then he didn't know how _he_ was going to survive it. In the end, though, he found himself sinking slowly into a chair in the classroom. He figured that it would be worse for him to _not_ go.

The classroom was bare with no decorations; in any other circumstance, he would have thought it unused. Chairs were crammed into crooked lines. Neville guessed that they were trying to fit the whole Seventh Year into one time slot.

There was one open window; the dust on its panes dimmed the light that was struggling through.

Around him, his classmates started filtering through and silently sitting down. Parvati Patil sat next to him, as she did in Herbology. Susan Bones took a seat in front of him.

Looking around, Neville noticed that Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were the two Houses more fully affected by the new… regime. Both Ravenclaw and Slytherin were easily twice the size of the former two Houses. Ravenclaw—fine; he was worried, though, that Slytherin would once more take advantage.

Not only worried. He was sure. _Of course they will, with Alecto Carrow teaching the class…_ Neville buried himself further into his chair.

At exactly a quarter past three, the door opened and closed with a slam that could only be a professor. Well—not any professor, but Neville didn't think that Alecto Carrow seemed the type to be very discreet about anything.

Neville watched her shuffle to the front of the room with trepidation. She turned around, smiling at the class. Neville wondered if she thought that would be comforting, because it wasn't. It gave _him _the creeps.

"Well well…" She stared around at them all. In front of him, Susan Bones shuddered. "I can see that this class is going ta be as difficult as was the Sixth Years."

Her small eyes rested on the Gryffindor section of the classroom. Neville realized that they had all segregated.

"But you lot do need ta have a reeducation on truth about the—" Her nose crinkled. "Muggles."

_Oh goodness_.

"The, er, purpose of this class is ta prove the superiority of magical blood to the _muddied_ blood of Muggles." Her nose crinkled again as she spat on the floor. Neville, who was sitting near the front of the class, pushed his chair back an inch.

The noise of his chair scarping against the floor brought the attention to him.

"Ah… _Longbottom_… I remember ya…"

Neville forced himself to look at her face. He knew that she was referring to that time in June, the month of the marble tomb, when he had thrown a curse at her face as she raced down from the top of the tallest tower.

She smirked at him, but said no more; turning her broad back to him, she paced away. The seventh-year was hit by an odor in the air that she stirred.

_Ugh_.

"Only recently has the Wizarding world recognized the _vileness_ of Muggles." The Carrow started in a speech that sounded suspiciously like it had been prepared for her. "Their _jealousy_ of those with the good blood, their need ta oppress those who are more powerful. We've bin livin' under the thumb of these weaklings for much ta long. These _stupid_, _nasty_—"

Neville was hardly able to believe his ears. Of course he had known—he had known that these views existed, from that time in the Department of Mysteries to the whispered insults at Hermione Granger when she once again upshowed everyone in the class. But to hear it so blatantly—not dared to be challenged—to be sure, he should have suspected it, but then why did those words feel like a physical blow to him?

"—the world today is not Pureblood, of course, and it is easy to spot those who have Muggle blood dirtyin' the pure Wizarding blood of their veins—any such person in here, raise your hands."

She was met with absolute silence. People glanced at each other, mouthing _What?_ A few actually smacked their heads as if to wake themselves up from a bad dream.

Then Seamus Finnigan raised his hand into the air. It didn't waver or shake and there was no scared or apologetic look on his face.

People stared at him. Then, one by one, hands were raised into the air. Neville noted that none of the Slytherins, although surely some of them were half-bloods, raised their hands; the other three Houses each had a motley crue of seventh-years who had their hands in the air.

Alecto Carrow sneered. "Of course this class was... diverse. I guess we'll have ta slow down for these half-bloods ta keep up. All half-bloods in the front of class."

Like most of her declarations, this one was met with a stunned silence. Then Seamus Finnigan was once more the first to react. He stood, a carefully blank expression on his face, kicked his chair behind him and walked to the front of class. He stopped at the chair directly in front of her.

Everyone was watching him with awe or disgust, the latter on the Slytherins' end.

He stared Alecto Carrow in the face—Seamus was taller than her—for a long second before dropping his bag on the desk and sitting. All of these actions echoed in the silent room.

Once again following his lead, the other half-bloods moved to the front of class. Neville was forced to move a seat back to allow one of them to have his chair.

His movement seemed to have made Carrow remember something. A look of smugness spread across her pudgy face. It did not mix well with her features, and Neville felt disgusted looking at it.

"That's right, innit?" she said, not looking away from him. "So the scummy Houses do have some Purity left in'thm. You're a Pureblood, Longbottom."

She said it as if she _owned_ him—as if that made him somehow linked with her. His disgust intensified.

Despite his disgust, he doesn't know what made him say it. What was going through that brain of his when he decided to speak back to her. It was as if that brain suddenly severed connection with his mouth. Or maybe he was channeling Harry, although he hoped that wasn't the case, because didn't Harry have to be dead for him to do that?

Whatever the case, he couldn't catch his words from the fabric of time and swallow them even while they hovered just outside his mouth. Like sunlight, untouchable and uncontrollable, they drifted across the room.

"Wish I wasn't," was what he said.

He hoped the regret didn't show on his face.

Carrow's voice dropped two octaves and her face deadened. "What."

"Well…" Oh hell, he might as well go full steam ahead—to use the Muggle expression. "Hermione Granger was Muggleborn, and that may have been her trick. She was smarter than everyone in the school, 'cept Dumbledore. So if she were here…" he paused, then forced himself to keep talking. The words came out a little more rushed than he would have liked. "I guess she'd be smarter than, you know, everyone."

_Yeah,_ said the significant silence that followed his words,_ that means you_.

Oh God. _Neville, hide under your desk. Run, while you still can. For a few weeks—no one will notice, and by that time this woman would have forgotten and you can live out your Hogwarts days in obscurity. Keep your head down, don't say anything—_

"Longbottom," she barked, and resentment coated her tone. "What are you _mutterin'_?"

Hell—did he say all of that out loud??

Oh hell hell hell…

"Sorry," he muttered, then swore at himself—he made sure silently this time.

"Class dismissed. Get these stinking half-Mudbloods out from in front of me," she snapped. The class got up quickly and shuffled out, most of them pale and quiet. The Slytherin corner shot him dirty, threatening glances.

"Longbottom come see me." Her harsh voice seemed to sock him in the stomach.

Slowly, he made his way up to her, willing the redness in his face to calm down. Hopefully she will think that that was how his face always looked.

Neville stopped in front of her. Then, out of no where, his head twisted around in response to the sudden blow he felt on the left side of it. It was as if she smacked him, but she didn't raise her hand.

_Oh_, he thought. _She wouldn't. That's too 'Muggle' for her._

"It seems that this _reeducation_ is going ta do wonders for ya," she breathed at him. Neville decided he didn't even need the slap, the way the woman's breathe smelled. If a smell was ever so similar to a slap in the face…

"Now get out."

He didn't need telling twice. He turned, and all but ran from the classroom.

_Welcome to Hogwarts._


End file.
